


when the sun sets, i will be merely a shadow

by orphan_account



Series: path of totality [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Dissociation, Mental Health Issues, Ozai's A+ Parenting, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vigilantism, random katara sighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Everyone knows the banished prince, be it by his scar or his fire. But no one knows of the spirit with the blue face and the dual broadswords. He may not think himself a hero, but he does relish in the thrill of performing as one.Because there is power is anonymity.". . .Zuko's journey veers off course when his encounter with the boy in the ice turns out a little different than previously foretold.
Series: path of totality [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642633
Kudos: 49





	when the sun sets, i will be merely a shadow

**Author's Note:**

> So! This takes place a few years (I'm thinking two) after "the tides". Just like Katara, Zuko's in a pretty rough patch of his life and kind of figuring out who he wants to be. I plan to have one more one-shot after this, and it'll have Katara and Zuko finally meeting before shit happens that'll eventually set up the plot for what'll be a multi-chaptered fic. Heads up, I cannot say when I will post either of those, but if anyone's curious, I don't mind giving out some details that won't be too spoilery.  
> Anyhoo, let's see what Zuko's been up to.

Detouring to the labor camp hadn’t been a part of the plan.

Make no mistake, he’s been aware of its existence for months. But it’s always been a sort of peripheral knowledge, one that seemed to whisper  _ caution _ , to stay away, to maintain his already frail existence just beyond the bounds of Fire Nation society. Up until now, it’s always been something he avoided, something which reminded him of the risk, of how easily the scales could be tipped out of his favor. 

The plan had been to raid a stage-coach of tax-collectors and redistribute the money throughout the village. And he’d done just that, preparing to retire for the night when he found himself on the path leading to the labor camp.

In the story of a hero, maybe he would say that the call to justice was just too strong, that he couldn’t just leave those people there, suffering because they couldn’t afford to live in the country they’d been born into. But in the story of Zuko, it was by accident that he found himself upon that path. And upon realizing that, he came to another realization: the fact that this whole vigilante thing isn’t gonna make much difference if he continues to play it safe; he’s not so vain as to think this somehow makes him somehow better than he actually is, but he’s not oblivious. There aren’t many that care enough to take a stand against the Fire Nation Army, and there are even less that actually do and somehow manage to keep breathing. If he doesn’t do this, he’s not certain anyone else will.

And after so long of just sitting on his ass, reaping the benefits of fear and terror...he has to do something. And tonight, that something is sabotaging the labor camp. 

The first thing he notices? It’s harder to sneak about than it is in the village. More guards, more watchtowers, waiting to take out someone with the gall to try and escape. Zuko wavers, crouched behind a bale of hay, before narrowing his eyes and leaping onto the back of a wagon bringing in more prisoners. A face, partially cloaked by the cloth dangling over the wagon, stares out at him, brown eyes wide and awe-struck. Zuko brings a finger to his lips, and the face nods, watching him curiously.

Zuko licks his lips and jumps, slicing the tires of the wagon before he meets the ground. A shout emerges from the front of the wagon, and soon after, a woman crawls out, staring annoyedly at the wheels. Without preamble, Zuko dashes back onto the path, running up behind her and angling his swords in an X against her throat.

“Make a sound, lose your head.” Zuko turns his attention back to the wagon, to where the face, belonging to that of a young girl, has emerged; beside her is a woman a few years her senior, a sister, perhaps. Zuko jerks his head to the side, and the woman and child spill out of the wagon, followed by a stream of others.

“Thank you”, the girl says as the woman lifts her into her arms and disappears into the night.

“They’re gonna catch you”, the carriage-driver spits as Zuko ties her up and tosses her into the back of her wagon. “They knew you’d be here sooner or later.”

_ Yeah, well, you can’t catch a Spirit _ , Zuko thinks, smiling against the fabric of his mask. He lets the cloth of the wagon fall back down as he crawls out, then, slowly makes his way further down the path. There’s a man standing beside a gate; Zuko tosses a rock several feet away, then waits until the man goes to inspect before walking up behind him and threatening him in the same manor. Then he opens the gate, and the prisoners go free.

He continues on like this for an hour or so, freeing a good fifty percent of the camp before he feels the cool presence of metal pressing against his back. Zuko freezes, keeping his hands down at his sides. 

“Goddamn vigilantes”, a voice grumbles, shoving him to the ground. “All right, you’ve had your fun. Off with the mask.”

Zuko breathes. In his stomach, there’s a ferret of fire, leaping about, eager to leap free and unleash its fury. He keeps it contained, keeps his breathing steady, his hands still at his sides.

His prime is during the day. To be awake at night, to feel the sleepy flames curling up within his veins, it's an odd feeling. Not because he feels powerless; on the contrary, he feels more powerful than he ever has. Everyone knows the banished prince, be it by his scar or his fire. But no one knows of the spirit with the blue face and the dual broadswords. He may not think himself a hero, but he does relish in the thrill of performing as one. 

Because there is power is anonymity; he's lived by the idea since he first put on the mask, but it was just this morning that he heard it spoken into being. He’d been with Azula, out for drinks despite the hour because neither of them had anything better to do. Beside them, there were two men discussing the Spirit with awe in their voices, drunkenly giggling as they recounted tales of Zuko’s latest endeavor against a corrupt warlord pocketing money from his district.

Zuko had turned to Azula, chest swelling with pride to ask of her opinion on his alter ego, only to fall silent at her deadpan, "Anonymity is the weapon of a coward".

She said it with a calm cadence, but there had been a smile upon her face, like she was telling a joke that only she knew the punchline to. It had unnerved Zuko but not as much as it should’ve; Azula smiled like that a lot.

“You folks just never learn”, the guard says before Zuko turns around and kicks him, launching him several feet back. Zuko tumbles out of his reach, narrowly avoiding a stream of fire. There’s a snap beside him, followed by the sound of hesitant footsteps. Zuko’s eyes widen, and within a second, he's jumping over a crate of canned peaches, landing between the guard and the prisoners trying to escape.

"Waste of time if you ask me", the guard grunts, rolling back his shoulders like he’s getting comfortable. "They're just gonna get picked up, sooner or later."

_ Not while I still wear the mask. _

A shriek arises from beside him, and there, with wide eyes, stands a young boy, eyes stricken with terror as a guard balls his hands into fists. And for all his swiftness and all his cunning, in that moment, they both fail him because he finds himself transported back in time, years ago, when he had been that young boy, staring, helplessly, at the flaming fist of a man with no concern for his well-being. Zuko blinks and, shakily, springs forward. 

Despite his delayed reaction, Zuko manages to cut down the guard just before the flames can meet the boy's face, before any of them even realizes he’s moved. 

His veins are humming, and his ears have popped. He stares down at the man, at the alarming large puddle of blood pooling underneath him. He takes one step back and then another, thinking only of the roar of a greedy, blood-thirsty crowd and his father, towering like a mountain above him.

"If you were gonna hang before", another guard is saying, eyes steely as she watches him. 

Zuko just pants, averting his eyes to the young boy, who merely stares at Zuko. His eyes. They’re wide with fear, and yet his feet remain firmly planted, as if rooted to the very spot on which he stands. Something in Zuko's stomach churns, and he steps forward, pausing when the boy flinches and lowers his head.

"Go." A woman, the elder sister from, stands beside him, gaze darting about the scene before her before returning to rest upon him. Unlike the boy, there is no emotion within her eyes, just the stern resolve to hold his gaze and say what she needs to say. She grabs her younger sister and holds out a hand to the boy, who accepts it quickly, scrambling behind her. "They'll be coming for you soon."

Zuko cuts his eyes back to the boys, wanting desperately to assure him of his goodness, that he isn't some cold-hearted monster that would kill a man just because he could. But to do so would be to reveal his voice and shed the illusion of the Blue Spirit.

_ What use is an alter-ego when it begins to corrode your identity? _

"Go!", the woman hisses, and Zuko grits his teeth, departing in the opposite direction of the group.

He stumbles down the street, heart pumping loud in his ears at the sound of more and more guards falling in line behind him. He pants, lips mouthing at the fabric over his mouth, and crawls atop a building. He angles his body on a slant and jumps, somersaulting over the arc of a grocer’s store before finding his balance in the middle of a crumbling street.

This is dangerous. More importantly, this is  _ stupid _ . Vigilante persecution is unrelenting,  _ unforgiving _ , and with the way he's been slithering around in the dark would already be cause for suspicion, nevermind this clusterfuck of an outing.

_ A regular old Robin Hood _ , he thinks, panting as he rounds a corner, heart continuing to thump loudly in his chest as the shouts of his pursuers grow nearer. Growing up, that particular tale had been one told with disapproval, but in his...quest, he'd heard quite a different spin on it.

It's been three years since said quest had met its end. He remembers the feel of his fire consuming the boy, but more than anything, he remembers the look within his father's face when he’d delivered the body to him. How his lips had smiled without his eyes and how he'd said, "Prince Zuko. No one will ever again question your honor".

He was accepted back home that day, but in all honesty, the gesture had felt hollow. He'd been hoping he could regain his father’s love, maybe even of the sort he showered Azula with. He’d been hoping for his pride, for his praise, for, foolishly, his regret at having casted him out upon the world, alone and so very angry. He’d been hoping to change his father's mind about him. 

He didn't. But he thinks he changed his uncle’s, who, despite living in the same palace, seems further from Zuko than ever.

"Thief!", a voice shouts, and Zuko curses, darting out of the path of an arrow; he crashes through a pyramid of clay pots, leaps into the air, and dives through the windows of a flower shop. He can hear ostrich-horse feet growing closer and closer, and the threat of capture has him more breathless than the run. 

Up ahead, there's an approaching woods, one which makes him waver ever so slightly in his dash.

Iroh's voice filters through his ears, precautionary:  _ "Be careful of those woods, nephew. It is where the bloodwitch dwells." _

Zuko had snorted and merely said,  _ "No full moon. She’ll be alone". _

_ "There are rumors that her partner has passed. If anything, she'll be more dangerous than ever." _

_ "I'll be okay, Uncle." _

Now look at him. He may've avoided the bloodwitch, but he's garnered the attention of the Fire Nation Army. And if his father learns of this, well, he'd be better off taking his chances with the witch.

"Under order of the Fire Nation Army, I order you to halt!"

Zuko jumps over the side of the bridge, falling into the platform beside it before rushing in the opposite direction. 

He's doned the mask for months, and this is the first time things have really gone awry. Admittedly, he hadn't really thought this through. He just...he just had to get out of that palace, had to do something with his life aside from benefiting from the toil of others. Had to do something to get that kid’s screams out of his head.

For a country that's been orchestrating a war for a century, you'd think there'd be lots to do to keep him busy. But most of it’s just busywork, and anything that isn’t pulls his stomach into knots and makes him long for those two blissful years he’d spent away from everything he’d ever known.

Guilt is what he thinks it is. After ridding the world of its savior, what else could he feel? Mad with power, like his father? Or mad with madness, like his sister?

(The way he's going, he thinks he’ll follow the latter path. Of course, he doubts he’d afforded nearly the same level of respect as Azula.)

So he'd turned to the Blue Spirit. And maybe that won't undo what he's done, maybe he won't come anywhere close, but at least it's something. He's trying and that accounts for something.

Right?

As he’s stomping through the river, he catches sight of his reflection in the water. His mask has slipped loose, revealing the left side of his face, where his scar, ever horrid and grotesque, ripples with the movements of the river. Zuko stares, transfixed at the face illuminated by the approaching lanterns, and breathes.

"Move it", he hisses to himself, shakily scrambling to his feet. He nearly twists his ankle on a rock and cuts his arm open on a discarded piece of glass, but he manages. "Move!"

He flees. Flees into the woods, where even the daringest of daredevils would refuse retreat. There's little room for fear, not with his mind so rich with emotion: shame; disappointment; anger. He pushes it all down, focusing on pushing himself further, faster.

He’ll be back. Come morning, he’ll think of a plan, a path, a way to make this  _ work _ . Because he's not giving up.

Suddenly, there's fire licking at his heels, and Zuko cries out, stumbling to the ground. He turns onto his back, and there's an officer standing above him.

The officer holds out a hand, a ball of fire simmering within the palm of her end. It dances up and down her fingers like a cat, lazy and yet so very energetic. Zuko gulps, reaching for his blades, only to freeze as the ball of fire quickly pushes forward so that it rests a mere inches from his face. 

"You're all the same", the woman tiredly says, then turns to the other officer. "What do you say?" The chuckles and shakes her head. "Should we rough him up?"

He never hears the other officer’s reply. Because it’s in that moment that Zuko finds the forrest floor has disappeared. He’s in an arena, curled in on his side, shrieking into his fist. He blinks, and the woman is there again, her lips twisted into a cruel snarl as her partner watches her uneasily.

_ You’re not gonna hurt me again _ , Zuko thinks. And before he can dwell on it, he's reaching for his swords. The officers are too slow to prevent his strikes, and within what feels like seconds, they’re lying lifeless at his feet.

He stares for a moment, taking in the mess of bodies surrounding him. The face of the young boy returns to him, his features so contorted with horror it seemed almost painful. Then he thinks of the girl, who’d watched him with awe, and wonders what she will think when the morning comes and she hears that the Blue Spirit had taken three lives. And he thinks of her sister, with eyes so empty you’d’ve thought she was staring at nothing.

His hands are trembling, and it’s getting hard to breathe. Zuko swallows, sparing the two mutilated bodies one last glance. And then he turns and disappears into the woods, hoping that they'll protect him, from whatever may come after him.

He never notices the angry half-spirit watching him curiously from the trees.

. . .

The next day, the Blue Spirit’s face is among those upon the infamous Wall of Vigilantes.

His father makes a passing comment about him, and his uncle and sister both cut their eyes to him.

Zuko eats his breakfast in silence. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm all about the angst, baby. I love Aang, but for this series to exist, he has to not so. ALSO, this won't be a romantic Zuatara fic. I actually love the ship, but I have a pretty good idea of where I want this fic to go, and it includes a platonic Zutara.   
> As always, I am open to feedback, and I'd love to hear what you thought. Also, I'm hearing that there's gonna be a live-action remake of the series AND supposedly new series about different avatars. A bitch needs to get caught up on LOK, but otherwise I AM EXCITED!!!


End file.
